I avoided him all morning.
I cooked breakfast like nothing happened. Set the table like I hadn’t been f****d on the counter six hours ago by my husband’s brother. My hands trembled as I poured coffee, but I smiled when Mark walked into the kitchen, kissed his cheek when he mumbled good morning.
I was a good wife today.
A lying one.
Evan came in minutes later, freshly showered, hair damp, eyes locked on mine with a smirk that made my stomach twist. He sat at the table across from me, eating eggs like he hadn’t had me bent over the kitchen island moaning his name.
I couldn’t meet his gaze.
“Sleep okay?” Mark asked him.
“Best I’ve slept in weeks,” Evan said smoothly, shooting me a look as he sipped from his mug. “Might be the house. Might be the company.”
I nearly dropped my fork.
⸻
